


Blood Trail

by IMAgentMI



Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:56:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>North and York are the last to arrive for emergency extraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Trail

“North!”

In the Pelican’s hold, Carolina froze in the act of applying gauze to a gash over Wash’s eye, turning as South ran past. At almost the same moment, Wash’s hand pressed over the gauze, and he gave her a shove with the other - from his vantage point he could already see what she was only just starting to process.  

Thick black smoke hung between the emergency extraction point and the wreckage of the building that they had thought housed their latest objective, before the explosions started and everything went to hell.  Two figures with armour soot-stained nearly to black had staggered out of the smoke and into the clearing. No, only one was on his feet - the other larger soldier was half draped over the first’s shoulder, his feet scraping over the ground behind them.  South was running, leaping over everything in her way and as the plumes of smoke, shifted across the sun, Carolina caught a glint of gold.

With her speed boost she reached the pair only a second behind South.  Even in the weak sunlight she could see the drops speckling the dirt and soot behind them in a worrying trail.  York came to a stop, allowing South to maneuver herself into position next to him, taking her brother’s weight off his shoulders and onto her.  Carolina let York get free, then pulled North’s other arm around herself, and together with South carried him back to the waiting Pelican, with York following.  

Wash met them at the top of the ramp, gauze forgotten and helped them lay North down.  Carolina let them get on with removing North’s armour while she stuck her head into the cockpit.  “We’re all in, Niner - let’s get out of here.”

“Copy that.”  Carolina banged her fist against the door frame in response and turned back to the hold.  Wash and South were practically yelling over the sound of the engines, South still struggling with the armour while Wash checked North’s pulse and thumbed open one of his eyes, checking the pupils.  On the other side of the hold, Wyoming had been fishing shrapnel out of Maine’s skin, and now paused as the Pelican took off, waiting for a smoother ride to resume.  And in the center of the hold, weaving slightly with the ship began to move, stood York.  

Carolina’s throat tightened.  Something was wrong.  Everything was wrong.  It was wrong the way that York wasn’t looking at her or North, the way he hadn’t sat down, the way that he was holding perfectly still, as though he were afraid to move.  It was wrong how he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t asked a question, hadn’t cracked a joke. She took a step forward, but her eyes caught behind him, stopped by the drips and smears of living red all the way up the ramp, up the hold to where she saw the blood trail actually ended.  She looked up again just in time to see his head sag forward.  

She was there before his knees buckled, bracing to take his weight, but limp in full armour, he threatened to pitch them both down to the floor.  Carolina called for Wash, then blinked in surprise as the weight left her arms.  Maine lifted York off her, turned him in his arms and laid him on the floor, as effortlessly as he would a child.  Carolina was on her knees, already reaching for the catches on his armour, but then the next moment, Wash was beside her, grabbing her wrist while Delta burst into light hovering over York’s chest.  “Agent York’s healing unit is currently engaged and it would be unwise to remove his armour until it has completed its cycle.  I am monitoring his progress and attempting to increase the unit’s efficiency and ease his pain.  I ask for your patience until he has been more adequately stabilized.”  Delta abruptly blinked out, unwilling to distract himself from his charge further.

Wash, instead of releasing her wrist, pressed Carolina’s hand down onto York’s armour, and she felt a steady vibration, greater than the hum of the ship could account for.  There was also an unusual warmth to the armour, which was normally so cool.  Then, like Delta, Wash abruptly rose and left, checking briefly with Maine and Wyoming before returning to crouch next to the Dakotas.  Carolina was relieved to see North begin to stir.  

She was starting to wonder if she should get up to retrieve her tablet and begin her report for the inevitable and equally disastrous debriefing meeting with the Director that was still to come, when there was a flash of green - Delta had returned.  “Agent York has stabilized for now.  The healing unit has successfully treated his most minor and superficial wounds.  It has also made progress with his more severe ones, though a bullet will need to be extracted from behind his left scapula, and it has limited capacity to cope with a punctured lung.  The actual wound itself has been healed, but it will require a proper medical facility to re-inflate the lung.  He has suffered significant blood loss but has avoided hypovolemic shock, and while a field transfusion is an option, I suggest allowing this to be handled by proper medical staff as well, as he is currently out of immediate danger.”  

“Thank you Delta.”  Carolina refused to acknowledge the lump in her throat.  

She started slightly as Wash joined her. He tucked a rolled up blanket under York’s legs as he spoke to the AI. “Is it safe to remove his armour now, Delta?  Just for a short while?”

“If you intend to clean off the blood, then yes.  Even unconscious it is causing him some considerable discomfort. But I ask that you replace it as quickly as possible.”

“Got it.”

Delta nodded and blinked out again.

With Wash’s help, Carolina stripped York down, cutting through his undersuit, which was sure to land them in shit later, but she didn’t care right now.  They unhesitatingly removed what underwear he was wearing, blood-soaked as it was, though she left Wash to handle everything else from the waist down. Wyoming turned up with wet cloths, and she worked to remove the bands of dried blood across his chest and arms, avoiding the puckered pink skin of recently healed wounds, and she felt a touch of nausea as Wash actually tipped a pool of half-clotted blood out of a piece of armour and wiped it clean.  She sat back on her heels for a moment to catch her breath.  Maine was sitting with his back to them, facing the wall - he was never comfortable seeing blood that wasn’t his own.  Wyoming was standing in the doorway to the cockpit, talking quietly with Niner.  South had rolled North on his side so he could breath easier, and he lay with eyes half open, watching them tend to York. 

Relief hung thick in the air between the Freelancers. There was always a chance of losing soldiers, some of them teammates and friends.  It was a reality they all had faced many times, every time they left the MOI.  They all had a running total of people they cared about that never made it back. But right here, right now, everyone breathed easier.  This time they came back with everyone.  They had a close call, but everyone was coming home.  

Movement caught her eye.  York’s hand twitched, inched toward her knee.  She caught it in hers, saw a brief gleam under his eyelashes before his eyes closed again.  

This time.


End file.
